


No Fool

by smolderfrost



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Just smut, Post Season 6, Smut, but it's mostly just smut, okay there's a little conversation, show universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:17:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7671571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolderfrost/pseuds/smolderfrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tormund has decided to quit staring and make his move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Fool

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because there just isn't enough Tormund/Brienne out there.
> 
> I finished this awhile ago and if I don't post it now, I never will.

She excuses herself from supper early, after making sure that her lady will be looked after by Jon Snow in her stead. She walks stiffly and quickly away from the table. Not running, she's too dignified for that, but he thinks she wants to.

Tormund knows it's his staring that has driven her from the hall to the safety of her room. His admiration has always made her uncomfortable, but her discomfort seems to have increased since her return from the south. She seems barely able to stand being in the same room with him and she goes to great lengths to avoid him throughout the day.

If he was still north of the wall he'd simply steal her and be done with it. Or, try to anyway. He grins to himself as he imagines the fight she'd give him as he tried to carry her off. He is not north of the wall, however. Tormund is rather flummoxed as to how to approach her, knowing nothing of southern customs, so has contented himself with following her every move with his eyes. She's magnificent – tall, long limbed, strong, capable - it is impossible to look away. 

As she flees the hall, he's decided to make his move. It can't go on this way. Watching her is no longer enough, although he's found he could watch her in the training yard for hours and never get bored, tonight he will make clear to her what he wants. Either she'll accept him or she won't. And if she doesn't, he'll find a way to move past her.

His step is quiet and she isn't aware he's followed her into her room until he speaks, “Brienne of Tarth.”

She whirls around, startled. Surprise quickly gives way to anger. 

He knows from watching her train with the other knights that she is strong and fast, but still, he never see her fist coming. She connects with his cheekbone, snapping his head back so suddenly it crashes into the arch of the doorway behind him.

She looks as surprised as he is. He doesn't think she knew she was going to hit him until she'd done it. She doesn't back down, however. Instead, she squares her shoulders and says, firmly, “Stop it!”

Tormund touchs his face, gingerly, then throws back his head and roars with laughter. Using a foot, he kicks the door shut behind him and then advances purposely on Brienne. Her determined expression quickly gives way to alarm and she backs up away from him, until the backs of her knees hit the bed and she abruptly sits down. He crowds her, pushing against her knees until she is forced to part them so he stands between her legs.

“Woman, you are magnificent,” he declares.

Her pretty blue eyes are clouded with confusion as she stares up at him. Then, suddenly, she is on her feet, bringing their bodies into full contact until she gives him a mighty shove backwards.

“Get out!”

“No.” He steps close again and wraps his arms around her, pinning her arms at her sides, thankful she doesn't wear her armor to supper. His cheek, the one she'd punched, presses against hers. He draws a deep breath in, pulling the smell of her deep into his lungs, then lets his head drift down until his mouth is pressed against the curve of her neck.

She holds herself rigid in the circle of his arms. He can feel a deep tension in her, that he thinks threatens to snap her in two. But she could easily break his hold, and probably his neck, if she wanted to.

She doesn't.

So, he peppers her neck and jaw with little kisses wishing, for the first time, that she wore a dress like her lady instead of this high-necked tunic, so he could reach more of her skin. His lips drift across her throat and he places more kisses on the other side of her neck. Her head moves just slightly to the side to give him better access.

“Sweet woman,” he murmurs again her skin.

Her body, which had begun to relax a little in his hold, immediately stiffens again. He thinks she might yell at him to stop or order him to leave again, but her voice, when it comes, is uncertain and plaintive, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you, woman.”

Her beautiful blue eyes fly to his, vulnerable and disbelieving, “Nobody wants me,” she scoffs.

“I do. I have wanted you since the first time I saw you, riding into the crows' nest, tall and strong, in your armor, with your sword.” He grabs her hand and presses it between his legs, “Feel, woman, feel how much I want you.”

She quickly pulls her hand away and tries, not very convincingly, to move out of his arms. “I'm not....I don't....You shouldn't....”

“You are. You do. I should,” he counters.

Annoyance flashes across her face. “A man gave me that armor. That sword,” she states baldly. “A man I wanted to want me.”

“Did he?”

“No.”

“Then he's a fool. A stupid southern fool.” Tormund presses himself against her, letting her feel again how very much he did want her. “I'm no fool.”

They stand that way for a long time. Tormund's arms around her, her arms pinned against her body by his, his lower body pressing against hers. He stares hungrily at her face, the perfect pale skin and beautiful blue eyes. Blue eyes that refuse to meet his and stare, instead, at his mouth. But, just when he's about to give up hope, ever so slowly, she slides her right arm up and out of his hold and wraps it around his shoulder. 

She looks uncertain, again. Like a dog, desperately wanting the food from the hand offering it, creeping forward to take it, but sure of the coming kick because it's been kicked so many times before. Tormund has always had the free folk contempt for kneelers, but it hardens into something else now as he realizes she she has no idea how wonderful she is. That this magnificent, honorable, true woman has been made to feel worthless all her life and now doesn't believe that a man could admire her. 

Her eyes meet his, finally. She slowly repeats the process with her left arm until both her arms are around his neck and his are around her waist. He pulls her even more firmly against him, their entire bodies are flush now.

“Do you want me back?” he asks her.

She doesn't answer, just continues to look into his very soul with those beautiful, sad, blue eyes. He lowers his mouth to hers and whispers against her lips, “Woman, do you want me or no?”

“Yes,” she whispers back and presses her lips against his.

It's just the press of her closed lips against his and he realizes then that she's never had a man before. By the gods, he thinks, these southern men really are dumb fuckers.

Carefully, oh so carefully, he moves his lips against hers. He slants his head slightly and tightens his arms around her. He sure if he moves too fast she'll balk, probably knock him on his ass and then kick him out the door. 

Tormund parts his lips slightly and sucks at her bottom lip gently. Brienne jerks in surprise but doesn't pull away, instead she returns his open mouth kiss with one of her own. This kiss is harder, a little more sure. He lets his tongue flick out to taste her lips and this time she does pull back, quickly, her eyes wide with surprise.

He removes one hand from her waist, runs it up her arm, caresses her cheek, then lets his fingers run through her short blonde locks. He slides his fingers into her hair, and cupping the back of her head, pulls her lips back to his. Slanting his mouth over hers again, he lets his tongue slide along the seam of her closed lips, trying to coax her into opening them. When she does, and his tongue is finally in her mouth, it's the best damn thing he thinks he's ever felt. And when she slides her tongue shyly against his, he knows he was wrong, because this is the best damn thing he's ever felt.

He pulls his mouth away from hers, he wants to grab her tunic at the neck and rip it down the front but he's sure she'll be upset with him so instead he says, “Off, Brienne, get your clothes off.”

He doesn't wait to see if she obeys his order but instead starts ridding himself of his own clothes. He drops the outer layer of furs and leathers to the floor and, before he starts on the next layer of clothes, he looks up to see what she's doing. She's started to unbutton the tunic, and is about halfway down the front, but she's stopped and is looking at him in amazement.

“What?” He throws off the second layer of furs and starts to pull the wool tunic that's under them over his head.

“You're....you have a lot of clothes on.” 

The wool tunic is on the floor with the furs and he's working the last layer of clothing over his head, leaving his chest bare, and nods in agreement, “It's winter. Layers keep the heat in. Keeps important bits from getting froze off.”

Now that his chest is bare, he wants hers to be as well. He attacks her buttons, but his fingers are too big and too clumsy for the damn small things and she swats his hands away and finishes unbuttoning it herself. As soon as the last button is free he pulls the shirt fronts apart and discovers tightly wrapped bindings underneath. He'd just assumed she was flat chested and is surprised to realize that she's not. 

Brienne reaches under one arm and pulls the end of the wrapping loose from where it's tucked. She starts to unwind it from around her body and Tormund helps and soon the long cloth is laying around and around her on the floor.

He reaches out and softly caresses one breast, letting one hand glide over it and around the side before hefting the weight of it. Her breasts aren't large but they're more than a handful and are tipped with the prettiest pale pink nipples he's ever seen.

“It's a sin, what you've been doing. Squashing them flat and hiding them away.” Both hands are gently fondling and squeezing her teats now.

“Have you ever tried to swing a sword or wear armor with breasts?” She asks resentfully. “They get in the way.”

His thumbs are gently swiping back and forth over her nipples now and they've stiffened into tight little peaks.

He bends down and takes one of those pretty nipples into his mouth. Brienne's body goes rigid but she doesn't move away like he fears she will. She's skittish and he worries with every new thing he does to her that she'll bolt. She surprises him, though, and proves she's the courageous woman he knows her to be.

His hands are grasping her hips and she places hers on his arms, sliding them up and down. He's suckling hotly at her breast then lets go and flicks his tongue back and forth over her nipple, all the while watching her face with a sly grin on his. He switches to her other breast, giving it the same attention. And she's suddenly like warm wax in his hands, relaxing into the pleasure. Trusting him with her body.

“We....we're...” She gasps loudly as his mouth pulls strongly on her nipple.

He lets go, straightens up, and slants his mouth over hers. It's open mouthed and wet and deep and she wraps her arms around his neck and gives back as much as he's giving her.

Tormund lets go of her mouth and whispers against her lips, “We're what?” Then he presses kisses along her cheek until he reaches her earlobe. He nips it gently before sucking it into his mouth.

Brienne jerks her head away from him in surprise. He grins at her, not sorry at all. “We're what?” he asks again.

“Wearing too many clothes still,” she whispers shyly.

“Yes, we are,” he agrees. He lets go of her and moves past her to sit on the bed. He begins pulling off his fur-lined leather boots, knitted wool socks, and then the fur coverings on his lower legs. He stands up to remove the outer layer of leather breeches and looks up to find Brienne grinning at him.

“Layers to keep the important bits from freezing off?” she asks, staring suggestively, and for her rather boldly, at his crotch.

He laughs again, head thrown back, then quickly goes back to shoving off his leathers. “Yes. Very important bits,” he agrees. He's finally down the last layer, wool breeches that are quickly pulled down his legs and kicked away.

Tormund grabs Brienne by the waist and tumbles her onto the bed. She's made no progress with her own breeches, having been too busy watching him remove his own. He attacks the ties at the waist, but the string is fine and double knotted and his big fingers can't manage it. So, instead, he hooks his finger under the knot and pulls until the tie snaps. He pushes them down over her hips to her knees and she helps by kicking her legs until they're down around her ankles. Brienne quickly uses her feet to push them off onto the floor.

“I see you have layers of your own.” He's staring at the cream colored silk small clothes she wearing. He strokes the soft material gently but his hand quickly strays to the even softer skin of her abdomen. She's laying on her back, he on his side next to her propped up on one arm. The hand that's stroking her belly moves down and fingers the ties to her small clothes. “Very pretty layers. But I bet what's underneath is prettier and I long to see it. So if you don't want your pretty layers ripped, you might want to undo the knot instead of me.”

But he's kissing her again, arms around her, and her pretty breasts are rubbing against his naked chest and they both forget about the ties of her small clothes. He shifts his body over hers and her legs part to let him settle between them. His hands slide down her back to cup her ass, to pull her hard against him as he grinds his erection against her damp small clothes. And she moans, she moans, and it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard.

Her hands slip between them and pull at the knot keeping her silk underthings on. He pulls his body back just far enough to give her the room she needs to untie them and then, finally, they're sliding down her legs and there's nothing between their bodies. He presses close again, pressing his cock against her, letting is stroke back and forth against her soft wet heat.

She gasps his name, “Tormund!”

He's ready right then to plunge inside her and lose himself in the wet heat of her body but he knows patience is the key. Fucking, good fucking anyway, takes grace and skill and as much as he wants to just shove it in her right fucking now, he's going to take his time. Even if it kills him.

Tormund moves off Brienne, so he's once again on his side next to her. His aching cock is pressed against her hip and he can't stop the small jerks of his own hips that rub him against her. He reaches out and cups her breast, running a thumb across the tight nipple before allowing his hand to stroke down her belly. When he reaches the pale blond hair at the apex of her legs, she eagerly parts her thighs for him. He eases one finger down, between her lower lips, caressing the sweet little nub there before going lower still and sinking inside her.

“Slick as a baby seal,” he rumbles in approval.

“What?” she laughs breathlessly, but instead of answering, he kisses her again. He strokes his finger in and out, mimicking the motion with his tongue in her mouth, then returns to the tight bud above the entrance to her cunt. He slides circles over it, keeping his touch light. 

Brienne's hips are moving restlessly against his hand. She's moaning and gasping, and looking at her, laying on her feather mattress with her long muscular legs splayed apart and a passionate flush covering her face and chest, he knows she's the most fucking perfect thing he's ever seen.

He continues to stroke her urgently, using his thumb now so he can slide two fingers gently into her cunt.

“Tormund!” she gasps, “I...” her words give way to a groan that ends on a shriek as she comes apart. Her body shudders and her slick walls clamp down on his fingers.

He groans and pulls his fingers away once her cunt is done spasming and, making sure she's watching, he brings them to his mouth and runs his tongue over them, tasting her. He moves over her, presses his cock against her, while running one hand down her leg to her knee. He grabs it, encouraging her to move her legs up and farther apart. “I've dreamed of you wrapping your long legs around me, Brienne.” So she does and hooks her ankles together and pulls him closer.

He goes slow, so slow, letting her adjust, not wanting to cause her pain. When her maidenhead gives way she gasps sharply but doesn't cry out. Tormund's all the way in now and forces himself to remain still, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Gods, woman, nothing has ever felt as good as your sweet cunt does,” he murmurs in her ear. Brienne moves her hips tentatively against his. It causes his whole body to shudder, “Am I hurting you?” he asks, “Is there pain?”

“There was, for a moment. It's fine, now. I think you can...” her voice trails off and her hips are moving more urgently against him.

His own hips give an answering involuntary jerk. “You think I can what?” he rumbles.

“Move. I think you can move.” Brienne's strong legs tighten around him.

So he moves, long slow strokes that her body moves to meet. He goes slow, so much slower than his body craves to, but he wants to feel her come again, feel her cunt grip his cock tight like it did around his fingers. 

And soon her hips are snapping up to met his and he doesn't have to be careful anymore because this glorious woman is right there with him. His hips are lunging desperately against hers, short deep thrusts that make her scream his name. When she comes, and her cunt grips his cock in a stranglehold, it sends him flying. His ears ring and his vision grays out while he spasms and jerks inside her, filling her with his seed.

Afterward, he curls around her, his front against her back with an arm thrown over her.

“What's this from?” he fingers the scar on her left shoulder. The three slashes look to him to have been made by claws.

“Bear,” she responds, sleepily. Her eyes are drifting shut.

He pulls her tighter to him and then whispers in her ear, 'I fucked a bear once. Is that what you were doing?”

Her eyes fly open and she twists around to gape at him, “No! What? Of course I wasn't fucking a bear! I was fighting the bloody thing.”

“I'm surprised it got close enough to claw you. I've seen your reach with a sword. It's impressive.”

“I only had a wooden sword and the bear broke it. And I was wearing a hideous pink dress.”

“And why were you fighting a bear in a dress with a wooden sword? How did you get out of it?”

He can see she's reluctant to answer and when minutes pass and she doesn't, he doesn't press her.

After a moment, she asks, “You didn't really fuck a bear, did you?”

“Aye. Her name was Sheila, and she was soft and ferocious. Do you want me to tell you the story?”

“No!” she laughs, and turns back onto her side and settles in. He curls himself tightly around her once more.

She's drifting off again and this time he lets her. It doesn't worry him that she has secrets, things she isn't ready to tell him. Because he knows he's got her and it's just a matter of time. He's going to make her laugh and convince her of just how magnificent she is. They're going to keep warm together, and fuck together, and fight the Long Night together. It's going to be glorious.


End file.
